If You Can't Stand the Heat... (Harlequin Kiss) (6 page)

Jack grinned. ‘Not sure yet. Is it a problem if I stay for another night or two? I like your house,’ he added, and Ellie’s glass stopped halfway to her mouth.

‘You want to stay because you like my house? Uh...why?’

‘Well, apart from the fact that we haven’t yet talked about Mitch, it’s...restful.’ Jack lifted a bare muscled shoulder. ‘It shouldn’t be with such bright colours but it is. I like hearing the sea, the wind coming off the mountain. I like it.’

‘Thanks.’ Ellie took a sip of wine. It would be nice to know if he liked her as much as he liked her house, but since she’d only spent a couple of hours with him what could she expect? Ellie couldn’t believe she was even thinking about him like that. It was so high school—and she had bigger problems than thinking about boys and their nice bodies and whether they liked her back.

Jack topped up her wine glass and then his. He squinted at the label on the bottle. ‘This is a nice wine. Maybe I should go on a wine-tasting tour of the vineyards.’

‘That’s a St Sylve Merlot. My friend Luke owns the winery and his fiancée Jess does the advertising for the bakery.’

‘And we’re back full circle to your bakery. Talk.’ Jack boosted himself up so that he sat cross-legged on the stone wall, his back to a wooden beam.

His eyes rested on her face and they encouraged her to trust him, to let it out, to
talk
to him...

Damn, he was good at this.

Ellie’s smile was small and held a hint of pride. ‘Pari’s Perfect Cakes—’

‘Who was Pari, by the way?’ Jack interrupted her.

‘My grandmother. It was her bakery originally. It means “fairy” in India.’ Pain flashed in her eyes. ‘As you saw, Pari’s is a retail bakery and delicatessen, with a small coffee shop.’

‘It doesn’t look like a small operation. How do you manage it all?’

‘Well, that’s one of my problems. We have two shifts of bakers who make the bread and the high turnover items, and Merri, my best friend, used to do the specialised pastries. I do special function cakes. My mum did the books, stock and payroll and chivvied us along. It all worked brilliantly until recently.’

Jack held up his hand. ‘Wait—back up. Special function cakes? Like wedding cakes?’

‘Sure—but any type of cakes.’ Ellie picked up her mobile and quickly pressed some buttons. ‘Look.’

Jack put his glass of wine next to him on the wall and leaned forward to take the device. He flipped through the screens, looking at her designs.

‘These are amazing, Ellie.’

‘Thank you.’

He looked down at her mobile again. ‘I can’t believe that you made a cake that looks exactly like a crocodile leather shoe.’

‘Not any shoe—a Christian Louboutin shoe.’

Jack looked puzzled. ‘A what?’

‘Great designer of shoes?’ Ellie shook her head.

‘Sorry, I’m more of a trainers and boots kind of guy.’ Jack handed the mobile back to her. ‘So, what went wrong at the bakery?’

‘Not wrong, exactly. Merri had a baby and started her maternity leave. She told me yesterday that she’s extending it.’

‘She
told
you?’

Ellie heard the disbelief in Jack’s voice and quickly responded, ‘She asked...suggested...kind of.’

Jack frowned. ‘And you said yes?’

‘I didn’t have much of a choice. She doesn’t need to work and I didn’t want to push her into a corner and...’

‘And you couldn’t say no,’ Jack stated with a slight shake of his head.

‘And I suppose you’ve never said yes when you wanted to say no?’ Ellie demanded.

‘I can’t say that I’ve never done that. I generally say what I mean and I never let anyone push me around...’

‘She didn’t...’ Ellie started to protest but fell silent when she saw the challenging expression on Jack’s face. This wasn’t an argument she would win because—well, she
did
get pushed around. Sometimes. Would he understand if she told him that, as grown-up and confident as she now was, she still had intense periods of self-doubt? Would he think her an absolute drip because her habit reaction was to make sure everyone around her was happy? And if they were they would love her more?

‘What else?’ Jack asked, after taking a sip of wine.

Ellie swirled the wine in her glass. ‘My mother has taken a year’s sabbatical. She always had this dream to travel, so for her fiftieth birthday I gave her a year off. A grand gesture that I am deeply regretting now. But she’s in seventh heaven. She’s got a tattoo, has had at least one affair and has put dreadlocks in her hair.’

‘You sound more upset about the dreadlocks than the affair.’

Ellie shrugged. ‘I just want her home—back in the bakery. She managed the place, did the paperwork and the accounts, the payroll and just made the place run smoothly.’

And while I say that I want everyone to be happy I frequently resent the fact that she left, that Merri left—okay, temporarily—and I have to carry on, pick up the pieces. When do I get to step away?

‘So, you’re stressed out and doing the work of two other people?’

‘And none of it well,’ Ellie added, her tone sulky.

Jack smiled. ‘Now, tell me about having to move.’

Ellie gave him the rundown and cradled her glass of wine in her hands. She felt lighter for telling him, grateful to hand over the problem just for a minute. She didn’t expect him to solve the problem, but just being able to verbalise her emotions was liberating.

And, amazingly, Jack just listened—without offering a solution, a way to fix it. If he wasn’t ripped and didn’t have a stubble-covered jaw and a very masculine package she could almost pretend he was a girlfriend. He listened like one.
Keep dreaming
, she thought. Not in a million years could she pretend that Jack was anything but a hard-ass—literally and metaphorically—one hundred per cent male.

Ellie yawned, curled her legs up and felt her eyes closing. She felt Jack take the glass from her hand and forced her eyes open.

‘Come on. You’re dead on your feet.’ Jack took her hands and hauled her up.

He’d either overestimated her weight or underestimated his strength because she flew into his chest and her hands found themselves splayed across his pecs, warm and hard and...
ooooh
... Her nose was pressed against his sternum. She sucked him in along with the breath she took...man-soap, man-smell...
Jack
.

She felt tiny next to his muscled frame as his hands loosely held her hips, fingers on the top of her bottom. A lazy thumb stroked her hipbone through the chef’s jacket and Ellie felt lust skitter along her skin. She slowly lifted her head and looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. There was half a smile on his face, yet his eyes were dark and serious...

He lifted his hand and gently rested his fingers on her lips. She knew what he was thinking...that he wanted to kiss her. Intended to kiss her.

Ellie just looked up at him with big eyes. She felt like a deer frozen in the headlights, knowing that she should pull away, unable to do so. She could feel his hard body against hers, his rising chest beneath her palms. His arms were strong, his shoulders broad. She felt feminine and dainty and...judging by the amount of action in his pants...desired.

He stepped back at the same time as she pushed him away. She shoved her hands into her hair, squinting at him in the moonlight. This was crazy... She was adult enough to recognise passion that could be perilous—wild, erratic and swamping. But lust, as she’d learnt, clouded her thinking and stripped away her practicality. Lust, teamed with the brief emotional connection she’d felt earlier, when she’d opened up a little to him, had her running scared.

Bum magnet.

Jack cocked his head. ‘So, not a good idea, huh?’

Ellie bit her lip. ‘Really not.’

Jack lifted a shoulder and sent her a rueful smile. ‘Okay. But you’re a very tempting sight in the moonlight so maybe we should go in before I try to change your mind.’

When she didn’t move, Jack reached out and ran a thumb over her bottom lip.

‘You can’t just stand there looking up at me with those incredible eyes, Ellie. Go now, before I forget that I am, actually, a good guy. Because we both know that I could persuade you to stay.’

Ellie erred on the side of caution and fled inside.

THREE

Every time his
foot slapped the pavement a hot flash of pain radiated from his cut and caused every atom in his body to ache. It was the morning after almost kissing Ellie, and he was dripping with perspiration and panting like a dog.

He placed his hand against his side and winced. He shouldn’t be running, he knew that, but running was his escape, his sanity, his meditation. And, thinking about things he shouldn’t be doing, kissing Ellie was top of the list. Why was he so tempted by his blue-eyed hostess? Especially since he’d quickly realised that she wasn’t into simple fun and games, wasn’t someone he could play with and leave, wasn’t a superficial type of girl. And he didn’t do anything
but
superficial.

But there was something about her that tweaked his interest and that scared the hell out of him.

He started to climb the hill back home and—dammit! He
hurt
. Everywhere.
Suck it up and stop being a pansy
, he told himself.
You’ve had a heart transplant—a cut and a beating is nothing compared to that!

Jack pushed his wet hair off his forehead and looked around. Good Lord, it was beautiful here...the sea was aqua and hunter-green, cerulean-blue in places. White-yellow sand. Eclectic, interesting buildings. He was lucky to be here, to see this stunning part of the world...

Brent never would.

Brent never would.
The phrase that was always at the back of his mind. Intellectually he knew it came from survivor’s guilt—the fact that he was alive because Brent was dead. In the first few months and years after the op he’d been excited to be able to do whatever he wanted, but he knew that over the past couple of years the burden of guilt he felt had increased.

Why? Why wasn’t he coming to terms with what had happened? Why wasn’t it getting easier? The burden of the responsibility of living life for someone else had become heavier with each passing year.

The mobile he’d borrowed from Ellie jangled in his pocket and he came to an abrupt stop. Thankfully he was back at Ellie’s place. He didn’t think he could go any further.

‘So, what do you think of Ellie?’ Mitchell said when Jack pushed the green button on the mobile and held it up to a sweaty ear.

‘Uh...she’s fine. Nice.’

She was...in the best sense of the word. A little highly strung, occasionally shy. Sensitive, overwhelmed and struggling to hide it. Sexy as hell.

‘So, have you talked to her about me yet?’

Jack lifted his eyebrows at Mitchell’s blatant narcissism and felt insulted on Ellie’s behalf.

‘Ellie’s well, but over-worked. Her bakery is fabulous; she’s running it on her own as her mum is overseas,’ he said, his tone coolly pointed as he answered the questions Mitch should have thought to ask.

‘Yeah, yeah... But how far have you got with the book? Did you get my e-mail? I sent it just now.’

His verbal pricks hadn’t dented Mitchell’s self-absorbed hide. Jack wished he could reach into the phone and slap Mitchell around the head. Had he always been so self-involved? Why hadn’t he noticed before? Jack sighed and looked at his watch. It wasn’t quite seven yet. Far too early to deal with Mitchell.

‘Firstly, my laptop is still in Somalia, and, contrary to what you think, I don’t hover over my laptop waiting for your e-mails,’ Jack said as he made his way into the house, up the steps and into his room. Jack heard Mitchell splutter with annoyance but continued anyway. ‘And, by the way, why did you teach Ellie such crude Arabic insults when she was a little girl? They are, admittedly, funny as hell, because she gets them all mixed up, but really...’

‘She still remembers those, huh?’

Jack pulled his T-shirt over his head, walked into the bathroom and dropped it into the laundry basket. Yanking a bottle of pills out of his toiletry bag, he shook the required daily dosage into his hand, tossed them into his mouth and used his hand as a cup to get water into his mouth.

Those pills were his constant companions, his best friends. He loved them and loathed them in equal measure.

‘And why did you tell Ellie that I’m
helping
you write this book?’

As per normal, Mitch ignored the questions he didn’t want to answer. ‘So, have you spoken to Ellie yet about
me
?’

‘No. The woman works like a demon. I haven’t managed to pin her down yet.’ Jack frowned. ‘And she’s not exactly jumping for joy at the prospect.’

Mitchell didn’t answer for a minute. ‘Ellie and I have had our ups and downs...’

Ups and downs? Jack suspected that they’d had a lot more than that.

‘She didn’t like me being away so much,’ Mitchell continued.

Jack rolled his eyes at that understatement. As he walked over to the window his eye was caught by two frames lying against the wall, behind the desk in the corner. Pulling them out, he saw that they were two photographs of a younger Ellie and a short blond man in front of the exclusive art gallery Grigson’s in London. Jack asked Mitch who the man in the photograph was.

‘Someone she was briefly engaged to—five, six years ago.’ Jack heard Mitchell light a cigarette. ‘She wanted to get married. He didn’t.’

Jack felt a spurt of sympathy for the guy. He’d had two potential-to-become-serious relationships in the past ten years and they’d both ended in tears on his partner’s face and frustration on his. They’d wanted him to settle down. He equated that to being locked in a cage. He’d liked them, enjoyed them, but not enough to curtail his time or freedom for them.

‘Jack? You still there?’ Mitchell asked in his ear.

‘Sure.’

‘I spoke to most of our commissioning editors today and told them that you’ve been injured. They will leave you alone for three weeks. Unless something diabolical happens—then all bets are off,’ Mitchell stated.